Metronome
by constantinterruptions
Summary: Amidst the chaotic orchestra of politics and war, he was the steady beat of the metronome which gave her direction


Temari was born into chaos.

As an infant, she had been the prime catalyst of a conflict between Anbu Root and the Kazekage. Eriko, the then leader of root, had taken a look at her and told the third Kazekage, Sabaaku no Kuro, that she wanted his granddaughter to become a soldier for Root. The third Kazekage upon hearing her request had merely smiled, his iron sand rising around him like a mist. Temari gurgled in her cot, her chubby little hands rising to meet the little silver dots which floated above her. The iron sand wrapped itself around the woman, her dark brown eyes flashing with anger and irritation. She remained silent through it, knowing that there was no chance for any escape. Not now, seeing that the iron sand had encircled her wrists and then her neck. The grains of iron pushed themselves towards her and through her body. Blood and flesh splattered out of the binds of his iron sand. Splattered with blood, the little girl merely laughed clawing at the continually falling petals of more flesh and blood.

When she was two, the third Kazekage was replaced by his son-in-law. Sabaaku no Kuro had been working in the office, one hot, sweltering day, and the next thing anyone knew, he had simply vanished. Security cameras from around the building had seen four men, dressed in black robes with red clouds adorning the fabric, slide into the building with the grace and the ferocity of a panther. One of them had hair, redder than blood. A note declaring the death of the next Kazekage should the Shukaku not be surrendered to a secret location was left along with a vial of the Kazekage's blood and his pinky floating in it. His ring, an ornate affair, gold with an inlaid black pearl in its center had been taken along with his body. Temari had been in the room when he had been kidnapped. Grandpa and her had been playing a game of hide-and-seek. Hidden away in a chest of documents, she cringed and cried silently when hearing the sound of blood against metal and the ineivitable thump which signaled to her that grandpa had been defeated. Anbu found her in a pool of her urine and tears, locked away amidst papers of state. When she had emerged from the crate, the room was still in disarray and there had been a patch of scarlet against the cream carpet of the office which had never been there. Biting her lip, the little girl allowed herself to be carried away.

At three, her mother had stopped fighting. The death of her father had been too much for her and Sabaaku no Karura with her once defiant eyes dulled by pain had like a lamb to a slaughter, obediently laid down her life for her village and her husband's ambition. Temari watched as her mother had cried her days away, her fists beating against her bulging stomach. The child's own hands hardened into fists and she comforted her baby brother against what she heard the maids call 'the monster' growing within her mother.

Age six. Gaara had killed Uncle Yashamaru and both Temari and Kankurou were sent away for their own safety. That was the so-called official reason, which was naturally, a lie. The Kazekage's enemies within the village had grown and now his children had be protected not from his son but from the poisonous snakes amongst their father's council. Kankurou had been poisoned and Rasa did not want to have any risks taken. Gaara was the only one who stayed because his death was one that his father could afford and in fact, welcomed. Temari had been sent to a jounin, they called Baki. Pressing fans into her hands, he corrected her form and taught her how to dance. Each step, each flick of hand, the six year old girl was trained as a dancer, her soft body and formed moulded to become flexible and taut. Baki, her new father, would teach her other things as well; like how to use a kunai, how to kill a man with a single touch and most importantly how to use a fan, not just to dance with but also in combat.

She didn't see her father for eight years, until she killed a man, a convict, in front of him with the power of her fans. Rasa merely snorted at her display and reprimanded Baki at her lack of form.

Temari was fourteen when they sent her for her first mission. It was a solo mission. Sent to the Land of the Waves, she went undercover as a child prostitute in order to seduce and later assassinate the then Daimiyo. The man had been a thorn in her father's side, forfeiting on the water treaties signed with Suna and Temari had been sent to ensure that his replacement would be put into power. Kissing the man and filling his weight upon her supple body, she squirmed with revulsion and the pain that filled the gap between her thighs. As blood flowed down her thigh, she found the strength in her arm to break out of the trance, the grotesque dance she had done with the Daimiyo had put her in. A swift jab to the man's adam apple and he breathed his last, dying with nothing but a soft sigh. She rolled him off her and grabbed her discarded robe on the floor. Limping to the window and shrugging on the loose kimono, she slipped out of the room, ignoring the blood flowing down her thighs.

Sixteen. After two months of killing and bloodshed in the B rank mission the council had sent her and her brothers on, Temari found herself in the chuunin examinations. Facing a boy with a strange hairstyle and an eternal scowl of irritation on his face, she found herself on the precipice of failure. It was another instance of failure in her life, failing to save her grandfather, failing to save her mother, failing to make her father proud and this time, it would be in front of an entire audience. The condescension she faced from the boy, his so-called gallantry in giving her the win, merely made her want to kill him. Glaring at his triumphant, yet slouching figure, she noted that she would kill him during the invasion.

She did not kill him during the invasion. However, she swore to him two months later that she eventually would. Returning to Suna, she would continue training, dancing amidst the sands with a bloodlust and a determination which rivalled no other. Her most important fight would come soon after, when she met the weasel of the winds. Their fight would echo through the mountains and was said to have raised a million dust storms which even Gaara could not control. When both were left bleeding and still snarling at each other, Temari had let forth another burst of wind towards the weasel's sickle. The dulled and fatigued metal of the sickle had snapped under the final pressure of her attack and finally Temari's opponent bowed towards her. Biting her thumb, she would slide the blood flowing from her finger across the forehead of her new summon. _We are going to kill the Konohan deer boy with you_, she told her summon, eyes narrowed with delight and smug satisfaction.

She would not keep her promised to Kikiri. Instead, two years later she found herself being entertained by the fifteen year old boy when she came to Konoha. Shikamaru failed to bring her to any places of interest or entertain her with tourist attractions and gimmicks. Like the confusing enigma he was, he brought her to the top of the Hokage tower and in the shade of the large sign, they watched the clouds in silence. Temari didn't even have the strength to complain about his laziness. Under the warm gaze of the sun and the azure sea of the sky, she lay there, prone and vulnerable, sapped of all energy.

Permanently assigned to Konoha as Suna's liaison due to her good work, Temari would find herself continually in the presence of the lackadaisical genius which Tsunade had proclaimed as her guide. His slow and steady presence, contradicted a quick mind and a sharp intellect which she enjoyed butting heads with. Amidst the chaotic orchestra of politics and war, he was the steady beat of the metronome which gave her direction. Aside from that, they played shougi and drank cold tea and Temari always did like shougi and cold tea.

At eighteen, Temari would finally achieve what most Kunoichi termed 'going around the world'. She had officially slept with one nin from every shinobi village. She would proudly declare this to her guide and then used the occasion to weasel another meal out of him. The boy merely sighed and muttered that the man she had slept with was a jerk and something about her abusing her privilege as a woman. She smirked and punched him in the shoulder. He feigned a broken arm and rolled his eyes at her.

The war finally ended when she was nineteen. Still recovering from the effects of Tsukiyomi, Temari found herself standing beside Shikamaru. She knew that she looked a little green and more than a little confused.

"What are you looking at?" she snapped as the boy turned towards her with concern in his eyes. Shikamaru merely averted his eyes, the tips of his ears turning red with what seemed like embarrassment. She bit her lip, the aggression was not warranted, especially since they were supposed to be overjoyed that the war was over and they were still alive. It was a façade, liked most of the emotions she expressed in public. In truth, Temari was more than unwilling to admit that her dream involved her playing shougi and drinking cold tea with him. It was the sort of lazy life which she never would admit she wanted and the sort of lazy boy which she would also never admit to liking.

Twenty years old and no longer a child, Temari smiled at the boy lying next to her. His hair finally was let down and almost reached his shoulders, the silver studs in his ears flashing in the sunlight. Lying next to him, she let out a breath that sounded like a sigh, glancing quietly down at their hands. They were next to each other, barely touching. She turned her body, resting her head on his shoulder. Shikamaru said nothing and they continued to watch the sky.

Finally, there was peace.


End file.
